


Wreck

by Purseplayer



Category: Glee
Genre: Infidelity, M/M, mentions of Kurt/other, slight unnamed D/s
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-05
Updated: 2014-11-05
Packaged: 2018-02-24 06:37:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2571770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Purseplayer/pseuds/Purseplayer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kurt is trapped in an unhappy relationship, but Blaine may offer just the push he needs to break free.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wreck

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was completely a guilty pleasure for me. It popped into my head a few weeks after I started learning Arnis (for those of you who don't know, a Filipino martial art,) when I was feeling particularly down, and I knew eventually I would have to write it.

THE COFFEE MUG was almost too hot to touch, but Kurt wrapped his fingers around it greedily all the same, savoring its sharp, searing heat.  It was cold outside, yes, but the burn was also a source of comfort, something he was forced to focus on that left the world around him a pleasant, fuzzy haze.  He almost loved the sensation more than the beverage itself.

Kurt startled at the sound of Blaine’s voice as he took the seat across from him.  “I love this place because it uses real mugs,” he said with his trademark smile, “but you may want to be careful there.  They can get really hot.”

“It’s good,” Kurt said.  “I… I like it.”

“Kurt…”  Blaine took a long drag of his own coffee, eyes imploring and kind as he reached across the table to brush Kurt’s arm with his fingertips.  “Please tell me what’s going on.”

Kurt gazed vacantly down into his coffee, wondering how they had gotten here.  He and Blaine weren’t really, _technically_ friends, after all, and what he was tempted to spill now was something he hadn’t even shared with Rachel.  But there was something about the art of Arnis—the waxing and waning of absolution and control, the outlet of punching and throwing and _being_ thrown around—that put him in tune with emotions he tried his best not to dwell on.  And there was something about his Arnis instructor that made divulging his life seem an alluring opportunity for catharsis rather than the terrifying disclosure that it was.

He allowed his eyes to flutter up to Blaine’s, and somehow unbidden they locked there; Blaine seemed to be peering into his very soul, but try as Kurt might, he couldn’t look away.

“You’re angry,” Blaine said.  “I’ve been picking it up since you started, Kurt.  I’m not even sure you realize, but… fighting is one thing.  It might help in the moment, but what you really need is to talk to somebody.  Whatever it is, I—if you’re not comfortable sharing it with me, then talk to a friend.  Or even a professional.”  He paused, blinked, but never once turned away.  “I worry about you, Kurt.”

Kurt scoffed.  “You really shouldn’t.  I’m not worth the effort, and besides that, I can take care of myself.”

“I know you can.”  Blaine’s fingers shifted, wrapping warm and snug just above his wrist.  “But that doesn’t mean you should have to, not all the time.  We all need people.”

Kurt sighed but said nothing.  He wanted to, maybe, but now that the [crazy, dangerous] urge was there, he had no idea where to start.

“Maybe I can… I’ll ask questions.  Would that help?” Blaine asked softly.

Kurt withdrew, squeezing his mug tighter, staring down into the murky depths he still hadn’t tasted, and nodded almost imperceptibly.

“You’re unhappy.  With your… with your life?”

Kurt rolled his eyes, but nodded again.  If that’s where Blaine was starting, this was going to take forever.

“Okay,” Blaine said, ever patient.  “Is it something with work?”

Kurt shook his head.                                                                                        

“Something happening in your family?”

Kurt hesitated, then said definitively, “No.”

“Your… is it your relationship?”

Kurt was silent.  Then, slowly, he dipped his chin, his eyes flitting to the corner of the room: anywhere but at Blaine.

“Is he hurting you, Kurt?” Blaine asked, voice hushed.

Kurt’s eyes snapped to his.  “No.”  Finally, he lifted the coffee to his lips and took a swallow, unhesitant when the steam still curling off the liquid warned of its sting.  “You’ve seen me; do you really think he could?”

“I’ve met a lot of strong, skilled people in my line of work.  Intimacy is a different beast.  It makes us all vulnerable.”  He paused pointedly, then added, “You wouldn’t be the first.”

“Well, I’m not!” Kurt all but snapped, then seemed to remember himself, arms coming to cross over his chest.  “It isn’t— _he_ isn’t like that.”

Blaine studied him for a long time, too long; Kurt felt as though he was shrinking beneath his gaze.  “What is he like, Kurt?”

“He’s—“ Kurt fidgeted, rearranged his legs, took a deep breath and another long drag of his coffee.  He stared at the table, hating how obtuse he was, and answered, “He’s cruel.”  He glanced up at Blaine, only to find that he was, predictably, still staring, then let his eyes flutter back down again.  “It isn’t physical; he’s just… I just wish he was _nicer_ to me, sometimes.”

“Kurt—“ Blaine started, and Kurt held his breath, waiting for the classic ‘ _If you don’t like him, you should just leave him_ ’ he’d gotten so many times before from well-meaning friends.  “Kurt, it’s okay to feel that way.”

“I—what?”

“What kinds of things does he say to you?” Blaine asked gently.

“It’s not… he’s not…“ Kurt sighed, shaking his head, then tried again.  “He’s never happy with me.  Not with my clothes or my body or my job or my behavior.  Not with my mannerisms or the things I like to eat or the shows I watch on TV.  And it just gets exhausting sometimes, and I feel like…”

“You feel like…” Blaine prompted.

“I feel like I don’t even know if he has the problem, or if something’s really wrong with me!  He makes me so confused.  I used to be such a confident person, but now...” he trailed off, furiously wiping under his eyes where tears had obstinately risen and begun to leak out.

He finally looked up at Blaine, who was watching him with concern, almost pity.  Kurt hated that, but he felt so, so grateful too.  And scared, and—

“You finish your coffee,” Blaine said softly, snatching three of Kurt’s fingers from around his mug and squeezing once before letting go.  “Sit here, finish your coffee.  I’ll be right back.”

Kurt nodded, sniffling, and watched as Blaine rose from the table, feeling too out of sorts to care much where he was going.  His coffee was merely warm now, but he swallowed it down gratefully all the same, clinging to the heat lingering in the ceramic while he willed his body to calm.

In less than five minutes, Blaine was back, clutching two steaming to-go cups.  “For the road,” he said, offering one to Kurt.  “Come on.  Let’s go back to my apartment; we can talk more there.”

A protest weighed heavy on the tip of Kurt’s tongue, but he swallowed it back, smiling weakly as he took the cup.  Thoughts of logic and caution and consequences warred in his mind, fighting to push to the fore, but he banished those too.  He wanted this, wanted _Blaine_ , his friendship and his kindness and his comfort.  It had become second  nature for him to deny himself the things he wanted, but this time, just this once, he let desire win out.  He followed Blaine out the door, down the street and across to his car.  He got in, sat in the stifling cold as Blaine fiddled with the knobs and pulled out onto the road, driving them away.

Blaine’s apartment was small and serene and silent, decorated in rich colors and comfortable but tasteful furniture.  Kurt stood in the doorway for the longest time, fixated on a seemingly simple sketch of a black bird, flying off into the distance.  Seconds passed or maybe minutes before he finally noticed Blaine, patiently calling his name, asking for his coat.  Kurt took it off and handed it over, murmuring his thanks without once looking away from the drawing.

Kurt wanted to fly.  But he needed something to ground him, too.

He heard the door click shut behind him, felt a warm, solid hand closing over his elbow, and finally his eyes shifted to peer directly into Blaine’s, their smooth honey brown somehow soothing.  “Have a seat,” Blaine said, a hint of concern seeping into his voice.  His head dipped toward the living room, and Kurt nodded absently, forcing his feet to move.  “Would you like some more coffee?  I can put some on,” Blaine asked once Kurt was seated, perched on the edge of the couch.

Kurt chuckled wryly.  “Probably enough for me today, thanks.”  The thought sprang to mind, and he was asking before he could stop himself, “do you have tea, maybe?”

“Of course,” Blaine said with an easy smile, his shoulders visibly relaxing.  “I’ll go fix some.  Is chamomile alright?  I have sugar and milk…”

“Chamomile would be lovely.  But maybe… do you have honey?”

“I think so.”  Blaine reached out, his fingers brushing Kurt’s shoulder before he turned to go.  It was a gesture meant to comfort, Kurt knew that, but something about Blaine made it seem as though he had a hard time _not_ touching Kurt.  In his role as Kurt’s martial arts instructor, Blaine was always professional but friendly, knowing when to push and, more rarely, when to be lenient and allow Kurt to work at his own pace.  Fighting required a lot of touching, but for the last few weeks there had been these little touches, too, before practice and after and in between. 

Kurt suddenly realized how much he had grown to look forward to them, to long for everything about his time with Blaine.  And now, somehow, he was here.

And he was a mess.

While he waited for Blaine to return, he tried to pull himself together.  But as his efforts proved futile, thoughts began to trickle into his mind, uninvited and unwanted and so very, very terrifying.

He didn’t want to pull himself together.  He desperately wanted Blaine to take him apart. 

He trusted in Blaine, more tentatively in the odd, organic connection that had blossomed between them over the last couple of months.  But he had trusted before, and look where it had gotten him.  His life had been so much less complicated back then, while this entire situation was overt—it positively reeked of potential danger—and Kurt wasn’t sure he had the resources to keep himself safe anymore.  Not from that.  Not from _Blaine_.

But Blaine was coming back, carrying a tray laden with two cups of steaming tea on square saucers, and there was no place to hide.

He sat on the cushion next to Kurt, facing him while Kurt himself practically hugged the arm of the couch.  “I’m not trying to push you.  I’m sorry if it feels that way.  I’m so used to that, you know, when I teach.  But I just… I just want to be here for you, Kurt.  In any way I can.  I know it’s not professional, but over the past few weeks I’ve kind of felt like we were friends, and—“

“I like it,” Kurt said, so softly it was nearly inaudible.

“You… what?”

“When you push,” he finished, not looking at Blaine’s face or his body with its strong, perfect arms or most especially his eyes.  “I like it.  It… wakes something up inside of me.  Makes me want to be better, to do better.  For myself, or maybe sometimes for you.  I like it.”

“Kurt,” Blaine said, hushed and broken.

Kurt gathered all the strength within him, pivoted around and met Blaine’s gaze.  “Are you really my friend?”

“I—Kurt, I _care_ about you.”  It was simple and painfully honest, but with the lingering hint of something forcibly absent.  

Kurt didn’t need to hear him say it.  He could read it in his eyes.  Not allowing himself even a moment for second guessing, he launched forward to press their mouths together, hands bracing too-tight on Blaine’s knees.

He kissed Blaine eagerly, forcefully, moaning when Blaine began to respond.  It was passion and freedom and frantic relief, even more so when Blaine took over, slowing the kiss and drawing it out, his hands coming up to frame either side of Kurt’s skull, gentle but solid and sure.  Long moments passed before they finally broke apart, breathing raggedly against each other’s lips.

Kurt didn’t want to open his eyes.

“Kurt,” Blaine’s voice came, and Kurt felt his eyelids blink open unwittingly, felt Blaine’s body shifting away.  Fear gripped his heart, terror that Blaine’s next words would be of rejection or worse, dismissal.  “We can do this, but if we do—I want you to be absolutely sure that you won’t regret it.  That it won’t make things worse for you, back at home.”

Kurt exhaled shakily, staring at his fingers as they picked a thread on Blaine’s pants.  “Sometimes I want—wish for—just, someone to appreciate me.  I try so hard to be perfect, and I know I’m not, but sometimes…”

“You deserve that,” Blaine cut in, lifting Kurt’s chin with a single finger to study his face.  “There are so many beautiful things about you, Kurt, and I know I haven’t yet discovered half of them.”

“I just want…” Kurt swallowed thickly, searching for the right words.  He wanted something to veil the truth, something vague to hide behind.  But he realized that Blaine deserved more than that, and scary as it was, Kurt wanted more than anything to embrace the seductive promise that was heavy in the air between them.  “I want someone to take care of me,” he said at last.  “I know—I know that’s silly, and needy, and it doesn’t really make sense.”

“I can do that,” Blaine said, a ghost of a smile on his face as his hands slid up to gently cup Kurt’s face.  “I want to, just… trust me.”

“I’ll… try,” Kurt said in a breath, and he meant it.  “Please.”

With no further words, Blaine’s mouth once again fell to his own, kissing him just as deeply and sweetly as before.  Their lips moved in tandem, Blaine slowly coaxing Kurt’s apart with a slip of his tongue, gradually licking his way inside.

Kurt shifted to grip his shoulders, going easily when Blaine inched him closer to reclining over the arm of the couch.  He sank down into the soft give of the cushions, feeling Blaine’s body grow nearer and nearer until finally their chests collided, Blaine’s heartbeat pounding opposite his own.  When Blaine pulled back, Kurt was shuddering.

“I think we’ll both be more comfortable in the bedroom, if you’re…”

“Yes,” Kurt said, biting back another _please_ , taking Blaine’s hand and allowing himself to be pulled from the couch, their nearly-full cups of tea forgotten.

Blaine led them down the hallway, pausing outside of the kitchen to press Kurt against the wall there with yet another probing kiss.  Kurt encouraged it, bending his body to curve into Blaine’s, dizzy with want now that this moment—his moment of surrender, letting go, giving in—was finally here.

When they made it into the bedroom Kurt paused, standing at the foot of the bed while Blaine stood a few feet away, looked him up and down, hunger and affection rampant in his gaze.  The shiver-thrill of it ran through him, but there was something wrong, bereft, now that their bodies weren’t touching.

“How do you want me?” Kurt asked, goose bumps rising to pebble his skin.

He wanted Blaine back; his warmth and his comfort pressed up close to Kurt’s body.

Instead of answering, Blaine advanced, crowded in, forcing Kurt backwards until he tumbled softly onto the bed, his legs parting on instinct to allow Blaine to slip between.  “Relax,” Blaine said, hands rubbing over his shoulders, sliding up the sensitive skin of his neck to trace Kurt’s jaw with the pad of his thumb.  “I’ll tell you anything I want, okay?  Other than that, just be and do what feels right.”  He kissed Kurt, soft and brief.  “Does that sound alright?”

Kurt nodded, fisting the material of Blaine’s shirt and tugging him down until their lips met once again.  He could feel Blaine smile, laugh into the kiss.  “You’re perfect,” Blaine muttered, almost like an afterthought, and Kurt couldn’t help but smile at that too, feeling his face flush hot at the praise.

They kissed and kissed and kissed some more, Blaine’s fingers playing with the hem of Kurt’s sweater then tingling over the warm skin of his stomach.  Kurt whined, arching into the touch until finally Blaine grasped the garment, tugged it up, up and away, tossing it somewhere to the side of the room.  It was designer, cashmere and ungodly expensive, but Kurt couldn’t bring himself to care.

Lips rained down on his shoulder blade, blazed an arc across his chest and down his torso, hands soft and firm and _perfect_ and everywhere.  Kurt hummed, squirming his body to chase the sensation, eyes closed and basking.  Soon Blaine was peeling off his leggings, following each revealed bit of skin with his mouth, sucking on the bend of Kurt’s knee, the muscle of his calf.  His socks followed, Blaine’s tongue exploring the contours of his feet, biting at his heel and his sole, sucking on his toes and licking in between.  It felt fantastic, intimate and surprisingly not at all disgusting, but Kurt was abruptly very grateful for the shower he’d insisted on taking after their Arnis session and before they hit the café.

Blaine’s hands slithered up Kurt’s body, his glorious mouth finding Kurt’s once more, completely lacking pretense, working fast and deep and dirty.  Kurt moaned, clawing at Blaine’s shoulders and then clutching them, desperate and needy and a little frightened by the intensity of it all.

“How do you feel?” Blaine asked, pulling back.

Kurt sucked in a breath, just managed an answer on the exhale.  “Good.  Marvelous.”

“Good,” Blaine echoed, kissing him again.  His hands found Kurt’s wrists, gripping them tight, maneuvering his arms above his head and pressing him into the mattress with his body, the contours of his belt and jeans biting pleasantly into Kurt’s bare skin.  “You’re exquisite,” he said, sounding more than a little in awe.  “Fantastic, Kurt.  Better than I ever thought.”

Kurt chuckled.  “You thought about me—about us—like this?”

“You have no idea.”

“And what“—his words were cut off by yet another assault from Blaine’s mouth—“what sorts of things did you think about?”

Blaine groaned, abandoning Kurt’s lips to shift down to his stomach, nuzzling there, his arms straining to maintain his grip on Kurt’s wrists.  He squeezed around them, hard enough that it almost hurt.  “Stay,” he said, his eyes confirming the command.

Kurt nodded, didn’t so much as flex when his arms were released.  He was tempted, though, when seconds later Blaine had his underwear off and thrown aside, his face buried in Kurt’s crotch, nosing greedily along the length of him.

“Please…” Kurt said, twisting his hips up in want of more.

“Mmm.”  Blaine licked a stripe up to the very tip, toying there with the head.  “Since you asked so nicely…”

Kurt’s eyes fell closed as Blaine’s mouth sank over him, hot and wet and far too much at once.  His mind played a fantasy of his hands straying downward, his fingers twining through the gelled strands of Blaine’s hair to mess and possibly free a curl or two… but he didn’t, wouldn’t.  And he loved the denial of it.

He loved the way Blaine’s palms rubbed up and down his thighs, the way Blaine’s hand slid up to mold around his balls, the way his body was a mass of contradictions, tensed and unfettered, utterly and  completely played and controlled.

With a final lick, Blaine pulled off, panting hot against Kurt’s slick, straining cock.  “You gonna make some noise for me?”  Another, miniscule kitten lick.  “Wanna hear it.  It turns me on.”

Kurt mewled in response, his head lifting to consider Blaine before falling with a soft plop back to the mattress between his arms. 

“That’s a good start…” Blaine said, and Kurt could hear the teasing smile in his voice.

“You want me to make noise”—Kurt said breathily—“then _make me_.”

Blaine laughed as he took him back inside, the vibration combined with the sudden flood of sensation forcing Kurt to bite back a strangled scream, strain and writhe and buck up in spite of the invisible tether tying him to the bed.

Blaine danced with his tongue, opened his throat and took Kurt down deep, and Kurt gave up all thought of pretense, gave Blaine exactly what he’d been after, falling helplessly down the endlessly spiraling path, his pleasure bright and so all  consuming he nearly forgot that Blaine was there at all.

And then, just as he seemed to near the bottom, it stopped.

“ _No_ ,” Kurt whined, hands dropping downward to press at Blaine’s head.  They were caught up, quickly, held tightly to his sides.

“Baby,” Blaine said, voice gruff in a way that made Kurt’s stomach flip deliciously.  “What are you doing?”

Kurt blushed, whined again because he couldn’t manage anything else, something strange and vaguely uncomfortable settling over him.  He turned his face away from Blaine’s scrutiny.

“Sweetheart,” Blaine’s voice was soft, placating this time.  “Tell me what you need.  Whatever it is, whatever you’re feeling, I promise it’s okay.  Kurt, you’re _safe_ with me.  Always.”  He paused, smiling to himself in amusement.  “Well, maybe not if we’re sparring, but…”

Kurt finally made himself look at Blaine, his heart pounding now with more anxiety than arousal.  Slowly, his wrists were released, and Kurt took the opportunity to follow his sudden, imperative impulse—he caught Blaine up with one hand splayed behind his neck, the other curved around his side, and tugged him down, hard, whimpering when Blaine’s warm weight finally collapsed upon him.

They clung together for long moments, Blaine eventually rolling them onto their sides so he could hold Kurt just as tight, peppering his neck and jaw and cheek and ear with kisses, whispering soothing words.

If there _was_ a heaven, Kurt thought… this is what it would be like.

“We don’t have to do anything,” Blaine said eventually.  “I can just hold you.  All night.  Longer, if you like.”

His words sounded wholly sincere, but his hand stroked down Kurt’s back, delicately trailing the contours of his ass—an obtuse declaration of his own desire.

And yes, Kurt still wanted that.  He wanted to be closer to this man.  He wanted to lose himself in whatever Blaine wanted, and he didn’t want to be afraid of that anymore.

He couldn’t speak, didn’t want to disturb the moment with his own words, so instead he inclined his hips back into the touch.

“ _Kurt_ ,” Blaine said, giving his cheek a good squeeze.  Kurt heard him inhale sharply, then, “Lay on your stomach.”

Kurt hesitated, his grip tightening instinctively.

“Trust me,” Blaine spoke more softly.

Kurt relaxed his grip, made himself pull away, stretching out face down as near to Blaine as he could get, their bodies still touching.

Blaine’s hands were warm on his bare flesh, exploring more gently now, straying around the curve of his hip, down over the expanse of his thighs and up higher, tracing the line of his spine, writing words or patterns or promises across his skin.

“ _Do something_ ,” Kurt begged, voice rough and a little demanding, his body beginning to tremble with too much sensation and need.

Blaine froze momentarily before he heeded the command, his nails raking sharp lines down Kurt’s back.  Kurt hissed at the unexpected flair of pain, tingling and intense.  His fists clenched and released, clenched and released where his hands were caught up awkwardly beneath his body; he squirmed, stretched them above his head in a mirror of how Blaine had him earlier.  That felt better.  Perfect.

Not as perfect as Blaine’s finger, softer now, trailing ever so tenderly along the part of his cheeks, finally stroking with barely-there pressure over his hole.

Blaine was toying with him, and it was lovely, and it was _torture_ ; the sudden ache of emptiness had him wriggling, splaying his thighs in a silent plea for more.  Above him, he heard Blaine sigh, felt him continue his reverent exploration of Kurt’s anatomy: the downy skin of Kurt’s balls, the sharp bones of his thighs, the furred span of his perineum. 

“Blaine,” Kurt said.  “Blaine, please…”

“Shh.”  Blaine’s hand withdrew completely, Kurt emitting a tiny, helpless cry at the loss.  But then Blaine’s cheek was pressed to his, his warm breath just reaching where Kurt was exposed.  “You shouldn’t talk,” Blaine said.  “Not unless you don’t like something, and you want me to stop.  Or maybe if you really like something, and you feel like stroking my ego…”

“ _Blaine_.”

“You should let yourself get lost, like before.  Only don’t be so afraid of it this time.  Just let yourself be, and feel, and—“

“I—I don’t think I can,” Kurt cut him off.

“You can,” Blaine said, sounding calm and utterly certain.  He finally brought his hand back, curving it warm around Kurt’s hip and buttocks.  “You can, because I promise I’ll find you.”

Kurt thought about that for a moment, thought about the comfort of Blaine’s weight, the thrill of his touch.  Sometimes safety is freedom, and sometimes it’s a tether. 

This time, maybe it could be both.

“Okay,” he said, still unsure.

Blaine rubbed a circle into his hip, intimate and soothing, then suddenly gripped hard, turned his head and licked wetly down into Kurt’s crevice, his tongue catching briefly on Kurt’s hole.  Kurt twitched, exclaimed a little _“Oh”_ of surprise.

His boyfriend never did this, never would, because it was dirty.  He wouldn’t even _swallow_.

Blaine apparently had no such concern.

He stroked and circled and pet at Kurt’s opening with his tongue, circled tighter as Kurt strained to get closer, worked his way inside so leisurely that Kurt couldn’t really pinpoint when he got there, the tip of his tongue a delicious flare of pressure delving deeper and deeper, further past the rim.

“You make such pretty noises for me,” Blaine praised, pulling back. 

It was only then that Kurt realized that he _was_ making sounds, greedy and primal and utterly foreign, all caution unwittingly lost and he really didn’t care.  He whined deliberately now, forcing his hips up so fiercely they nearly popped from Blaine’s grasp.  He wanted more, wanted it back, addicted to the sensation.

Instead Blaine let go, pressing a palm flat to the small of Kurt’s back.  “Still, sweetheart,” he said, and like a marionette Kurt obeyed, slumping back into the mattress, moaning when his cock got caught up against the bedding.

Blaine slotted in next to him, kissed him sloppily, his hand sliding down to play in the slick mess of Kurt’s ass.  Without warning, he pushed one finger inside.  Kurt’s back arched, surprised, his head moving away on instinct but Blaine held him there, kept their mouths together, their foreheads and noses touching when he finally allowed them to break apart.

“Are you good?” he asked, and Kurt nodded, earning a wet kiss on the nose for his obedience.

He keened when Blaine slipped in another finger just seconds after the first; it hurt, but in a way he found enjoyable, an ache that too soon faded into the sheer madness of not being full enough.  “So tight,” Blaine murmured.  “Always wondered what it would be like with you, and now you’re here.  You’re mine.”

Kurt smiled, letting his head gently fall to Blaine’s shoulder, happy when Blaine took it as an invitation to peruse his neck with soft lips, the rough scrape of teeth.  His fingers rocked and scissored, and it felt so good but Kurt just wanted it over, wanted Blaine.

“How much do you—“

“I’m good,” Kurt said. 

Blaine eyed him skeptically. 

“I want to feel you,” Kurt tried to explain.  “I just—“

Blaine shifted to kiss him, swallowing the words.  “Yeah, okay,” he whispered sweetly against Kurt’s lips.  His fingers withdrew, leaving Kurt more barren than ever, but a gentle hand on Kurt’s forearm maintained contact as he stretched across the bed, retrieving what was (probably, hopefully,) a condom and bottle of lube from the nightstand drawer.

He laid them on the bed, sitting back on his knees, confused when his hands fell to his belt—almost as if he’d forgotten he was still clothed—before he shrugged and began to undo the buckle.

Kurt caught his wrist, stopped him.  “Let me?” 

“Of course,” Blaine said.  “Of course, okay.” 

Kurt sat up, joining him on his knees, reaching out to trace the lines of Blaine’s collar against his throat, down to finger each individual button.  Their eyes locked, and it was all the communication they needed.  Something special happened in that moment, Blaine’s ordinarily  kind face softening even further into something impossibly tender.  They exchanged shy little smiles as Kurt slowly slipped each button from its slot, working the shirt open and letting it fall from Blaine’s shoulders. 

Underneath he was blissfully naked, having sweat through his undershirt during their earlier session.  His skin was a bit paler here, creamy gold sprinkled liberally with coarse, dark hair, and Kurt wished not for the first time that Blaine hadn’t worn so much gel today, that he might see him just as he was designed.

No matter; it was still Blaine.  Kurt stared at him in awe, stupidly, flattening his hand against the raw beat of Blaine’s heart.

Blaine worked his forearms out of the last clutches of material and pulled Kurt into his arms, their bare chests meeting for the first time.  Kurt sighed, sagging into the embrace.  He lingered there for a moment, then pulled away, brushing a kiss across Blaine’s collarbone as he began to undo his belt.  One hand slid down teasingly to trace where Blaine bulged beneath his jeans, watching Blaine demurely as he made quick work of the button and zipper, shoved both the pants and the boxers beneath them down to Blaine’s knees in one rough, fluid motion, and slowly dropped backward, spreading himself out like an offering on the bed. 

Kurt feasted on the sight before him: Blaine naked, his cock red and glistening and thick amid a curly patch of dark hair.  He waited impatiently as Blaine freed his legs, scrambled to lie on top of Kurt and kiss him, thorough and desperate and with something that felt suspiciously like love.

Kurt folded his arms around Blaine’s neck, slid them down to caress the smooth warmth of his skin; his legs found purchase on Blaine’s hips and he thrust up, again and again and again, loving the way their cocks tangled and slicked together.

“Shh,” Blaine said, hands framing Kurt’s skull, wide thumbs resting and pressing under Kurt’s jawbone.  “Not like this.”

“But I—“

“Trust me.”  Blaine’s lips brushed his, his words sinking deep into Kurt’s soul, embedding there this time, and Kurt nodded, gave himself over.

He could do this, had been doing it all night, little by little.  This was everything he wanted.

Blaine shifted to the side of him, manipulated Kurt’s body until Kurt’s back was pressed snug against his chest, Blaine’s arm outstretched so that Kurt’s head could rest upon the taut expanse of his bicep.  Blaine’s face nuzzled into Kurt’s neck, painted little kisses there as Kurt listened to him fumbling below.  Finally, he felt it: Blaine’s fingers spreading Kurt’s cheeks, his cock nudging in between, the imprint of Blaine’s breath as he whispered, “You’re sure?”

Kurt reached backwards to take Blaine’s arm, wrapping it around his torso and hugging it tight to his chest.

“Yes.”

Their lovemaking was slow and sweet, passionate and frenzied, everything at once and in turn.  Kurt clutched Blaine’s arm, lost himself safe in Blaine’s grasp, didn’t, _couldn’t_ , think or analyze or worry; he let Blaine move them, carry them through until they were both sated and sleep-happy, sweaty and slotted together, and Kurt didn’t feel appraised, and he didn’t feel alone.

*******

The room felt chilly, and Kurt felt antsy as he waited for Blaine to finish in the bathroom.  Now that Blaine was physically absent, out of sight, not _touching_ him, Kurt’s mind spun with possibilities, most of them bad, most of them demanding that he flee.  He had needed this, had wanted it; it had been everything… but now it was over, and what did he have?  What had he _done_? 

A phone chimed somewhere in the distance, a chime Kurt distinctively recognized as his own.  On instinct, he tore himself from the muddled bed, ran into the living room to pull the cell phone from his bag and then back into the safety of the bedroom, closing the door firmly behind him and allowing himself a moment to lean back against it, close his eyes and take stock.

Only there was too much to take stock of, too much, and Kurt didn’t even know the half of it yet because he was probably furious and who knew what he was thinking, what he would choose to believe?  He would be angry.  He would be upset, might even cry, and Kurt couldn’t stand it when he started to cry and nothing Kurt said or did was good enough to fix it….

Kurt walked absently to the middle of the room, finally forced himself to look at his screen.

Eight text messages, three missed calls, and two voice mails, all from the same person.  His finger hovered over the buttons as he willed himself to read them, to listen. 

Blaine came out of the bathroom, quietly, and crowded up against Kurt’s back, winding his arms possessively around Kurt’s chest.

“I know I shouldn’t ask you, but—“

Kurt took a deep breath and pivoted in Blaine’s embrace, silencing him with a single finger pressed to his lips.  “Tell me,” he insisted.

Blaine’s eyes locked on his, fully betraying his vulnerability, but when he spoke, there was no uncertainty lingering in his voice.  “Stay, Kurt.  Stay with me.  I want you to stay.”

Kurt sighed his relief, tossing the phone onto a discarded shirt, walking them forward until they both toppled back onto the bed.  He settled his body to curve into the side of Blaine’s, his head fitted into the dip of Blaine’s shoulder.  “I would love that,” he whispered, fingers splaying over the textured warmth of Blaine’s chest.

This cocoon they’d created couldn’t last forever; Kurt knew that.  Eventually, he would have to face his boyfriend.  Or not face him, a hopeful little voice whispered within him, and for once he didn’t care how cowardly it sounded.  Or not face him, leave a note, slip away.

He burrowed impossibly further into Blaine’s embrace, a peaceful little smile on his face as Blaine pressed a soft, lingering kiss to his forehead.  Kurt sank into sleep.


End file.
